Forgotten
by FourTrisTheImpenetrable
Summary: He won their war. He was their hero. He was offered immortality; he refused. He was hated. He was forgotten. He was betrayed. So he left. And he wasn't seen again. He is Percy Jackson.
1. Prologue

**Forgotten**

**Summary: **He won their war. He was their hero. He was offered immortality; he refused. He was hated. He was forgotten. He was betrayed. So he left. And he wasn't seen again. He is Percy Jackson.

**Disclaimer: **You know what goes here. Rick Riordan ownes... and I don't, sadly.

* * *

Think dark.

Yes, dark.

No, no.

I'm not talking about cloaked figures that murdered others in their sleep at the dead of night with knives up their sleeves, a scythe at their sides - _no_.

I'm talking about an ink-colored, night-filled, lost, _dead_ kind of night. I'm talking about the ebony color that fills you with dread. The kind that _kills_.

You have that midnight color in your head, yes?

Good, good.

For a mortal, that is.

Because that is _exactly_ how a hero felt. Not all the heroes, but _a _hero. A _specific_ hero; a _certain_ hero. Every bone in his body ached with this, the curse of Achilles stripped from him, the day his heart shattered into irreplaceable pieces.

The events of that day, August eighteenth, are not important. The hero died that day. Before you so kindly interrupt, let me clear something out. Physically died, no. Emotionally died, yes. Mentally died, maybe. There you have it.

He had changed a remarkable amount that day, the day he died. His personality, his look, his skills. You say he can't notch an arrow, or aim a bow? He'd say you're terribly mistaken. You ask what happened to him? He'd deny he ever changed in the first place. You pick a fight with him, and you're as good as dead.

Now, enough of all these dangerous clues I've given you. Don't go screaming to the universe what you've found out about our hero. Because these secrets could get even the innocent wholeheartedly killed, without even a second thought. It's your choice, believe me.

You know the exact hero I'm talking to you about, yes? Because you might just forget his identity; his _real_ name. His _real_ family. You might even forget his _real _personality.

This hero you and I both know quite so well is Percy Jackson.

But, he goes by Aion now. Just Aion. What - no last name, you say? Nope. No backstory? Nah. Not even an introduction? No. You'd better get used to it, 'cause he won't ever respond to Percy, or Perseus. And like I said before: It's completely your choice.


	2. Sword

**Chapter Two: Sword**

* * *

"Inhale as you notch the arrow," she had said. "Exhale as you let it go."

Artemis's mother's words echoed in her mind as she reached for an arrow from the quiver on her back. She closed her eyes in concentration.

She inhaled. She exhaled, blowing a few stray jet black hairs from her face. She let the arrow fly through the air, meeting the red bulls-eye of the target.

Her mother smiled, placing a relaxed hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Congratulations, Artemis. Your father would be so proud."

Artemis felt a pull of sadness in the pit of her stomach. Her father. Her father had gone off to complete a mission; a mission for Lord Chaos. What mission - she had no clue.

"Mom, when's dad going to come home?" Artemis asked, looking up at her mother.

"I don't know, Artemis," her mother sighed. "But he will make it out alive. You and me both know that, yes?"

"Yes." Artemis knew her father was strong. Strong enough to hold up the Sky, strong enough to make it in the Ten, a team made up of the most skilled, most powerful people in the universe, commanded by only Lord Chaos himself. "Yes." She repeated herself quietly.

Her father would come back.

* * *

Once.

Twice.

Thrice, was all that took to kill this man, the terrorist. Good thing they were in an alleyway - a dead end of an alleyway, he might add. This way, no decent mortal would be bound to fall upon the body. And even if they did... He would leave them a surprise. The dark figure traced his finger in the air to make an A, and a letter drew itself into the victim's cheek: A, drawing blood along with it. Not like the dead man would feel it.

The figure wiped the blood from his knives away onto his victim's clothes. Oh, so you thought he held a sword for his primary weapon, yes? Wrong again.

"Two down, one to go," he muttered to himself, turning away from the body.

He straightened in his posture and resumed his brisk pace to his last target, jumping-on-roofs style.

He took a deep breath and with a burst of fresh adrenaline, he was off. His speed was inhuman, drawing him up to the roofs with one jump, leaving his black-as-night cloak trail behind him in the wind. It was easier, he figured, much easier. No traffic, no people in his way; it got the job done faster.

The wind whizzed through his ears, blurs of colors in the corners of his long-since-mended sea green eyes. He had forgotten how free this felt. He kept a close eye on the streets he had passed. Ah yes... Make a left, a right, and resume straight. He was fine.

If the file was correct, and it always was, the three targets were to be meeting at an abandoned facility at approximately three eighteen in the afternoon. Only one would appear today; none would leave after this was over.

He jumped over the edge of the roof, in one swift move, and landed on his feet on the sidewalk. He didn't pause a bit in his pace, even when a stoplight was in his way, even when there was traffic. They were just puny obstacles to board him from his mission, his goal.

He slid over the roof of an incoming car. If the driver saw him, they didn't acknowledge it.

Yet, there was no way he could be seen. If you stared at him straight on, you'd see nothing out of the ordinary. If you stared at him out of the corners of your eyes, you'd see him. Trick of the light? He'd say it was. But that's one conversation that's farther from the truth than you think.

Confused? Well, you'd have to get used to that. He thinks in strange ways.

He rounded a tight corner, a silent blur of wind to the mortals. Just a few moments and he'd reach his destination.

Even from where he stood, the building emanated a feel of old and trashy. It was strong enough to support two floors and ceiling, though that was officially it for the tour. Years of the wear-and-tear from the wind and rain had gotten through to the building. Pieces of the walls were missing; cement, wood, and broken glass littered the ground, like a hurricane had blown through. All the windows were boarded up, the doors too. What kind of sick individual would host a meeting in such a place like this?

He kept his face impassive; he wanted to finish this mission as soon as possible, and he would do just that. Kicking one of the boards from the windows, he slipping into the dark and dusty room.

Three eighteen was his designated time. Three fifteen it was now. Perfect.

His back was to the peeling wall as he waited in the musty silence. The only light that dared come pierce the darkness was the sunlight from the boarded window. He kept still, not daring to make a single noise. If he did, it would ruin his whole mission. He wasn't going to risk it.

How do you act when you're about to kill someone? How do you present yourself? These thoughts always came into his mind when he was about to kill someone.

He didn't act merciful toward any of his kills. The choices he made decades ago effect the choices he makes even now. He says a few choosing words, and he kills them. They were on Lord Chaos's hit-list for a reason. Which basically meant that overall, the world would be an entirely better place without them. Terrorists, serial killers, murderers. It was always the same kind of people.

Some noise came from the door by him and it swung open with a loud wail of a creak, light flooding in. A terrorist, he could tell by his looks, walked right in like he owned the place. He didn't even bother flicking the light switch, plumping down into a wooden chair by a worn-down table in a corner of the room.

The figure turned to the rustic door, slamming it shut in one swift move.

The terrorist turned his head, clearly unable to see the figure. With his acute hearing he could make out, "Stupid draft."

With not even a hint of a sound, the figure pulled out his glowing silver knives, illuminating his face: glowing sea green eyes and jet black hair under his dark cloak. That had definitely grabbed the terrorist's attention.

"You," the terrorist spit, sneering, like the word was poison to his lips. "Get outta here."

The distance between the terrorist and the figure grew rather smaller as the figure closed in.

"Get outta my place before I shoot you for it." Terrorist was out of his seat now, raising his voice.

Five feet separated the terrorist and the figure. The figure didn't dare move any closer.

The terrorist pulled out a trusty gun from his old boots. He pointed it at the figure. In return, the figure stood motionless; he kept stolid.

"My master sent me to kill you. Nothing personal." The figure spoke quietly, in an all-too-even voice for someone who was about to be shot.

"You think you can beat me with just knives?" The terrorist asked widely, nodding at the knifes. "My friends will arrive any second. We have you surrounded." He smiled in an all-too-cruel way.

The figure cocked his head, staring the terrorist in the eyes. "What friends? I killed them. I suggest you drop the gun before you end up like them."

The terrorist's fingers lay rested on the gun. One little movement of his forefinger was all that took to kill the figure. "You little piece of shit," he decided.

And he did just that; he pulled the trigger.

* * *

The figure, safe to say, wasn't happy. Why would a mortal shoot someone like him? He had no idea. He had warned him. He had calmly waited so as not to upset him. He even took the honor of putting up a good first impression. What was it with mortals these days? Grow a consciousness, will they? He would roll his eyes at their antics.

He rapped onto his master's door, hearing: "Enter, Assassin Aion."

The figure calmly strode in, catching his master's dark eyes. Dark, powerful, evil (somewhat) they were. But gentle, as well. Merciful. He didn't harm the innocent. The figure went ahead and sat down on the chair facing his master's oblique desk.

"Your mission. Stats."

"All three targets killed, just as requested, sir. Meeting cancelled. No authorities contacted."

His master nodded his head in thought. "Perfect mission as always, Aion. As promised: Leader of the Ten. As leader-"

"Sir," Aion interrupted. "No speech. I've read all about it, thank you."

His master smiled in return. "No, I thank you. For sparing me a handful of time."

Aion smiled back. "But - you're Creator of All, aren't you? You can freeze time whenever you feel like it."

"Yes, though energy-sapping it is, I don't tamper with time."

"Well," Aion paused, looking for the right words. "That's good to know, sir. Have a good afternoon."

Aion stood up and walked to the door.

"Aion." His master called.

He turned silently.

"Your daught-"

"Artemis - is she okay?" Aion asked, quickly getting worried.

His master set his hands up on his desk, putting on his grave face as he said the following sentence: "Yes, though she's trekked here three times now, asking where the hell you were," he paused. "Do me a favor, will you?"

Aion could feel the edges of his mouth tilt upward. "And that would be?"

A faint smile appeared on his master's face. "Tell your daughter I said sword."

"Will do, sir," Aion said.


	3. Family Vacation

**Chapter Three: Family Vacation**

* * *

"Aion," a familiar voice, female, called out at the large pavilion, crowded with soldiers on their lunch breaks. It contained a whisper of hope, relief, and happiness all at once. He loved that voice with all his heart. "Aion," it called again.

Aion's head swiveled to the sound of her voice, finally turning around to face his wife, Zoë Nightshade. Yes, Zoë; the very same person that was part of the Hunters of Artemis long ago.

He smiled, putting his arms around her, pulling her into a delicate embrace, and gently touching his lips to hers. They stood in silence for a moment, before pulling apart, holding hands.

"How was your day?" Zoë asked.

Aion took a steady breath. "Ah, the usual. And yours?"

Zoë smiled faintly. "Our daughter shot a bulls-eye today."

Aion raised a surprised eyebrow. "And she's only twelve years old. Hard to believe, really."

"Well, she's been taught from the best." Zoë said.

Aion laughed. "Yes, yes you are, my love."

Zoë smiled, making her way toward the archery targets. She watched her daughter as she notched an Eon Silver arrow and shot it, earning herself another bulls-eye.

"She's still improving." Aion noted.

"Yes," Zoë smiled, looking up at her husband. "Though she'd rather use a sword."

Aion smiled back, his sea green eyes trained on his daughter, a white-clothed figure in the process of notching an arrow. "Then you've taught her well."

Zoë laughed a light three-syllable laugh. Their daughter turned toward that oh-so-familiar laughter, allowing her bow to disappear in a faint cloud of silver light. She grinned brightly, dashing to her parents in two seconds.

"Dad, you saw that, right?" Her eyes were an excited, dark green.

"You've definitely improved," he smiled, ruffling her jet black hair in the process. "Though you'd prefer a sword, yes?"

She nodded.

"I spoke with Lord Chaos today," he spoke the words like they were nothing. Even though Lord Chaos treated everyone as equals, no one really spoke with him on their own accord. It was more or less that he summoned them. "And he said sword."

Artemis grinned. "I thought he'd side with the bow."

Aion had it all figured out. "You'll be training with my Lieutenant during the week."

"Your lieutenant..." Artemis said in thought. "Luke? Luke Castellan?"

Her father nodded, saying simply: "Yes."

"Great." Artemis smiled. She turned and walked toward a couple of girls her age at the tables, sitting with them.

A moment of silence tensed between them as Zoë broke the quiet, turning toward her husband. "Her whole life will change, you know that?"

"Yes," he was serious. "It's her choice."

"I guess you're right," Zoë said. "Though knives-throwing challenge before you go on your next mission?"

Aion smiled, narrowing his eyes. "You're on. But know that you've already lost."

Zoë grinned in an all-too-vicious manner, a fierce kind of light in her onyx eyes. "You're horribly mistaken, Commander."

"Oh, so you know about that already?"

In reply, Zoë only shrugged, the smirk displayed on her face speaking for her.

Aion laughed. "You're so going to lose."

* * *

Lord Chaos, Creator of All, was sitting at his desk, sorting through files. Files, you ask? Well, yes, files.

Files and files of all sorts; paperwork that could fill halfway up toward the ceiling. Tedious things such as this came as a price to him, the First Creator. Oh, how he utterly _hated_ it.

"Please, Lord Chaos," a voice, male, said through the mini fist-sized black portal that was floating to his right. The background was a very bright shade of gold. And two figures that each deemed powerful auras (not as powerful as his, of course) sat nearby him, one on each side, on their thrones. Chaos mentally sighed.

"We're begging you. Each and every one of us for your help in the war."

Lord Chaos looked directly at the speaking figure. "Why?" He kept an impassive face.

"Why?" Anger weaved itself into the voice as it repeated Chaos's one-worded question. "To help us win the war, of course!"

Chaos frowned, looking back down at the pile of paperwork on his desk, a pen in his hand. Yes, he preceded to do things on paper. Many things could go wrong with a computer, of course. "Aiding you in war when you've _banished_ me with nothing..." He mused; a grumble, really.

A series of mumbling broke out among the other figures from the portal, but the voice continued to speak above them. "We're terribly sorry, my Lord; we now know the error of our ways. We need your help and we need it now. We're begging you, my Lord, please."

Chaos sighed, closing his eyes. He hated the Greeks. He knew this would be a decision he would come to regret very soon. It was all in due time. All in due time. "Nothing else you require?" He asked, giving the Greeks yet another chance to deem themselves merciful. _Not even an apology...?_

"No, my Lord," the voice said.

Chaos took a deep breath. Oh yes, he'd regret it very much later. "Very well," he said. "Expect a ship's recruits to arrive in a week's due time."

"Thank you, my Lord." The voice said, in a surprised manner. "We thank you for eternity." And the connection was cut, the black portal swirling with images disappearing with a puff of wind.

Lord Chaos internally groaned. Oh, how he hated the Greeks. They, in turn, had been the ones to enslave him to his own dimension - void of any single thing common to one's universe. And now here they were, begging for his help - _his help_ - in a war started by _his own granddaughter_. Why did he accept?

Sure, Gaea was, well, his granddaughter. But that didn't make her invincible from any crime she could commit. Chaos had always known Gaea to be a good person, a bit rebelling, but good. When'd she have the time to turn this hostile?

In the first war, if Chaos remembered correctly and he always did, the gods had barely lulled Gaea back to sleep. So, looking back on history, why couldn't they do it again? They had the gods all there - well, most of them. The demigods, too. It wasn't that much of a difference, he thought.

There must have been some serious problems going on within their little group on Olympus, Chaos decided. Or maybe they were fighting with their Roman counterparts. Chaos always hated that. Why couldn't they just decide on one form and stick to that? The last time that happened... _No_. Those were the utterly horrible times. He wouldn't remember.

Snapping himself out of his thinking, Chaos turned back to the paperwork. All of the Ten were on missions, and he'd just sent out a remaining on another. So that had left... His new commander, Aion, and Aion's wife, Zoë.

Chaos frowned. He could tell, Aion wasn't going to like it one bit. Revealing his identity to the whole Olympus... Even the First Creator was merciful. He'd bend some rules. He didn't want his new commander and his spouse to revisit the bad memories, before they had joined his force.

And so they wouldn't. Ever since Aion's daughter, Artemis, had walked all the way down to his office, Chaos could admit, she was pretty powerful for a girl at her tender age of twelve. Guards were posted at the ends and beginnings of every hallway. For her to even step foot in his office... Well, there was _a lot_ of hallways one had to take to even find his office; he almost felt bad for them. Almost. Judging from that, Aion could bring his daughter as well on the mission. It would be educational, too; in proving how lazy the Greeks really had gotten.

A little family vacation, Chaos could call it. A little family vacation, indeed.


	4. I Accept

**Chapter Four: I Accept**

* * *

"Hey Aion, think fast!"

A sharp-as-hell knife was thrown in Aion's busy direction. Just when the knife was about to pierce his ebony cloak, his hand shot up and caught it. He turned around, a playful smirk showing on his face.

He looked at the soldier that had thrown it. "Nice try, Zach." He replied, tossing the knife back with the same amount of deadly speed. "More improvement needed."

The soldier groaned at Aion's comment, catching the knife quickly and walking away toward the targets.

Aion walked past battling soldiers, silently inspecting them out of the corners of his calculating eyes. As always, they were perfect. Perfect and swift; no errors showing through. The instructors were professionals, of course. No other occupation could compare to the teaching tactics used. Each instructor knew all about their subjects; they didn't beat their initiates, either, like most instructors in this century.

Lord Chaos's army and assassins weren't chosen randomly, either. Each individual was personally selected for a reason; a single reason only Lord Chaos knew and kept.

Aion himself didn't know why he was chosen. He was given a new identity, a new life here. He would fight until his last dying breath for Lord Chaos. Or maybe that was his fatal flaw speaking for him.

Aion shook his head. No, he didn't have a fatal flaw; not anymore. It disappeared the day SHE did what she did. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing that emerging headache gone. He wouldn't think about that day. He had a whole new life now. His old life was gone, and he preferred it never even _existed_. He lives in the present, not the past. He made it a point to keep moving a long time ago, and he wouldn't stop now. He wouldn't dwell in his past memories.

He walked out of the pitch black building, and into the equally colored portal of swirling energies. He appeared in a dim lit training arena, just two single bright lights blazing down, one at the assortment of weapons and the other at a bold circle in the middle of the room.

On one complete side of the room's wall were thousands of weapons, illuminated by the light, each different from the last. Swords, spears, bows, scythes - you name it, were all there. Different weights, balances, looks, and histories. A couple buttons and switches were pressed into the wall beside that. This was his personal training arena. He had gotten it as a gift a year after he joined Lord Chaos's force.

Aion crossed the room and pressed the closest button to him: a blinking neon red. He smiled, narrowing his eyes.

The neon red was a personal favorite. A legion of the hardest, most skilled opponents were to be created and sent from the sliding doors on the right side of the room.

Aion pulled out his silver knives from the scabbards on either side of his army belt. His grip on the knives hardened as he walked to the small circle in the middle of the room, faced the motionless door, waiting for his opponents to appear.

It took a five second count for the walls' doors to slide open, thirty feet in front of him. A legion of robots appeared, immediately taking action.

Only one message repeated itself in Aion's mind: _Just keep moving._

Aion stepped out of the bolded circle, hacking at the robots with fast, deadly hits. He kept low, out of the robots' reaches. Rolling under his target's feet, he quickly regained his footing and jabbed a silver knife in the one sensitive spot on its back.

_Just keep moving._

With his other knife, he struck it in another's eye. They all had armor, so any careless move he'd make, wouldn't work. He drew a circle, making the robots step back a few inches. They didn't have feelings of mercy. Just installed knowledge. _Keep moving; keep moving._

Using that as a distraction, he kicked the closest one to the ground, smashing its head in the process.

He settled into a pattern: slice, jab, sidestep, kick; slice, jab, sidestep, kick.

_Keep moving._

He found himself driving his knives into the robots faster than he could think. He felt alive, free. He hadn't felt like this in forever. He quite enjoyed it.

_Keep moving._

He waited as the last robot charged toward its death. It swung at Aion with unmeasurable speed, which Aion dodged just as quickly. Graceful and quick, they appeared as two blurry figures as they fought.

_Keep moving._

Aion felt himself drawing back, one footstep past another. _No. _

_Just keep moving._

He went from a steady defensive into a dangerous offensive. He sidestepped at the robot's mid-swing, jabbing his knives into that nice one-inch in size weak spot in the higher back all these robots had.

Aion looked up at the timer above the sliding doors containing millions of robots, just a few buttons away from being released.

_02:58_, the timer read.

Two minutes fifty-eight seconds. A personal record. His last time had been three fourteen. He smiled at his accomplishment.

He turned, approaching the buttons again. He was about to push the neon red one again, ready for another wave, when he heard a throat being cleared.

He looked over toward the noise's origin. "My Lord Chaos." Forgetting everything, he immediately sunk down to his knees, bowing before the First Creator standing at the threshold of the dark vortex swirling with ink-colored energy. His knives lay forgotten on the ground in front of him.

Chaos sighed. "Aion, no bowing, please." He sounded tired of saying that phrase. And perhaps he was, after all.

Aion straightened, putting his silver knives in the scabbards hanging from his belt, and looked up at Lord Chaos. "My apologies, sir. What brings you here?"

Chaos momentarily ignored the question, his eyes resting on the timer. "Ah, two fifty-eight. Congratulations, Aion."

"Thank you, sir."

"To answer your question, I'm issuing a mission," he paused, looking at Aion. "If you accept, that is."

Aion was surprised. "Why so..." He struggled to find the right word. He didn't want to anger the First Creator, though it took much to anger him, if any. "_Nice_, sir?"

Chaos shrugged. "I have my ways, I suppose. Now about the mission," he took a breath. "You won't like it."

"What do you mean, sir?" Aion's eyebrows were furrowed.

"I mean you _really_ won't like it." Chaos saw Aion's expression, about to interrupt, so he continued. "_But_, I've made a few exceptions."

"Like what?"

"Well, now," Chaos smiled. "You'll have to accept the mission first."

Aion sighed. "Alright, sir. I accept."

"Great." A tan file appeared in Chaos's hands. He handed it to Aion. "Read it."

Aion didn't need to be told twice. He opened it up, quickly scanning the inside summary. His expression went from stolid to concentrated to nervous to broken to mad to vicious in seconds as he read further in.

The file read: _Gaea, Greek goddess of the Earth, has risen. Tremors have been reported all throughout the seven continents. The mortals, shown recently, are shaken. Many mysterious murders in the huge cities are linked to the said goddess. Begging for help towards Chaos, the Olympians have earned it._

_Objective: Fly to destination Earth and defeat or lull Gaea to sleep._

His eyes burned with hatred. These people were the ones who... _No_. He wouldn't remember. No, the memories were too painful. Instead, he continued reading.

_Time: Short; three to five days._

_Person(s): Roughly twenty-five soldiers, experienced._

_Exception(s): None._

He could only manage one word as he looked up at his utmost calm master. "_What_?" It was more like a growl than an actual word, really.

Chaos sighed. This reaction was only expected for these circumstances. Typically normal. "Which is why I created quite a few exceptions."

Aion's eyes seemed to calm down some. He looked almost interested as the silence spoke for him. He closed the file.

"You don't reveal _anything_ about yourself or others," Chaos said. "You're there to help win their war, that's it. You're not there to get acquainted like old time friends."

Aion nodded. He quite liked these exceptions.

"Your family can come with, if they want. Your daughter can see how lazy the Greeks have gotten over the years." Chaos suggested.

"I get the strangest feeling you don't like them, do you?" A smirk inched its way across Aion's face.

"Yes." Chaos admitted, heaving a sigh. "More than you most certainly think."

"Well then," Aion said, opening the file back up, scanning the exceptions paragraph. No longer empty, it read the two exceptions Lord Chaos had stated. He mentally sighed a breath of relief. His identity was safe. He wouldn't be bothered by them.

The edges of his mouth tilted upward as he crossed his arms and truly said: "I accept the mission, sir."


	5. Traitor

**Chapter Five: Traitor**

* * *

Her opponent screamed.

Artemis faked a right hook, slicing through his unprotected chest, drawing little blood. She gained new ground with every footstep as he fell back.

His breaths grew labored as his sword came lightning-fast at her. She was only expecting this, blocking every swing just as quickly. He was losing, she knew that. And she made it known to him, as well.

Artemis returned with a couple strikes of her own, ending with a final roundhouse kick that knocked her opponent off his feet. She knelt down, laying her sword against his throat, ready for any kind of surprise attack he might throw at her.

It didn't come.

"Yield?" Artemis asked quietly through get teeth. The opponent below her tensed, like he was planning something. He was either going to sweep her off her feet or-

"Enough," a voice rang from the sidelines, growing louder as it made its way to the center of the training arena. In other words, where Artemis and her opponent stood.

"Victory to Artemis." Her blond haired, blue eyed swords master stated. His hand rested on the hilt of his wicked sword hanging from the scabbard of his war belt.

Artemis removed her sword from her opponent's neck, offering him a hand. He humbly accepted it with a "thanks", making his way back to the sidelines, to the other initiates.

"Class dismissed," the swords master announced, then added quietly: "Except for Artemis."

The initiates swarmed around the exit portal, disappearing as soon as they came in contact with the swirling ebony energy. The tense silence increased as the arena emptied until only Artemis and her teacher were present.

"Sir?" Artemis said, resting a hand on her sword.

"Artemis, for how many days have you been taking sword fighting?" Her teacher asked.

"Three days, sir." She replied automatically. She didn't realize it, but those days had gone fast. Unbelievably fast, really, even though the days themselves were longer than the standard twenty-four hours on Earth.

Her teacher only nodded. "Correct. On the first day, you didn't even know how to properly wield a sword." Artemis remembered that all too well. Later that day she had come home sore from the training. But that was the past. She didn't dwell into past.

"You're now almost at professional level, Artemis," her teacher mused, looking down at her. "I suppose it's because of your parents' genes, but," he shrugged, "You're invited to join the Ten."

Artemis was shocked, to say the least. She knew she was good, but certainly not that good. Forget professional level altogether.

"But what happened to a member of the Ten, sir?" She asked. The group was called the Ten for a reason. There were ten people in it. If she was being invited...

Her master took a deep breath. She could tell this was becoming a hard topic to talk about. It took a supposedly long time for her teacher to answer. Or maybe it was just her aggravating patience. "Only Lord Chaos knows," his voice was grave. "But their absence reminds us of who we truly are."

"What would that be?"

Her teacher smiled faintly."That's for you to find out, one day. Trust me." He let the words sink in before continuing. "Do you accept?"

Artemis slowly shook her head. "I'm honored, sir, I truly am. Don't mistake this as sarcasm. I'm only twelve years old. I want to grow up, live my life. And maybe then, I might accept. If the position is available, that is. But I apologize."

"I understand," her teacher said. "Though know that Lord Chaos has offered. I am merely bearer of such news." He smiled, a nostalgic expression taking form upon his face. "Your father said something like your words a long time ago. He was offered the gift of immortality then. Of course, he refused. Because of Annabeth, that is."

Her teacher said it like it was nothing, and maybe it was. She knew her father hated speaking about his past, before joining Lord Chaos and starting a new life. "Annabeth, sir?" She asked, mystified by this Annabeth. Her father had never mentioned an Annabeth.

"Yes. Your father's love for four years."

"I see," she said. Why hadn't her father ever mentioned Annabeth before? She would ask him later.

"Don't forget traitor," a familiar voice rang from behind. Footsteps followed closer to them. They both turned to face a man donned with black assassin's clothes. He had two deadly sharp knives hanging from his belt. His green eyes were highlighted in the dim lighting. This man was her father.

"Dad?" Artemis asked in disbelief. Forget asking later.

"Yes, she was," her father growled, approaching them. "A complete traitor. Don't ever trust the offspring of the Wisdom goddess. All they will lead you to is deceit and loss."

He took a deep, calming breath before speaking. "You're coming on a mission with me. Your mother, you, and me. To... Earth." It seemed like it pained him to say the word 'Earth.'

Artemis had never been away from Chaos's realm. Finally, she could see the Olympians her father so much despised. "When?"

"Tomorrow. Break of dawn."

"Hey, I can't come?" Her teacher asked, directing the attention toward him.

Artemis's father sighed, a small smile making its way onto his face. "Yes, Luke. You can come. Do me a favor first?"

Luke raised an eyebrow at the question.

"Bring twenty-four soldiers. Experienced, mind you."

"Right away, Commander." Luke said, making his way to the exit portal.

"Oh, you know about that?" Her father asked.

Luke only laughed as he remained facing the swirling portal. "News spreads like wildfire here, Aion." And he disappeared with the slightest touch of the spinning energies.

Artemis's thoughts remained unmoving. How could she and her mother go on a mission with her dad? Wasn't it dangerous? Wasn't it unlawful? Prohibited?

"Lord Chaos made a few exceptions," her dad replied to her questions.

"You promised you wouldn't read my mind, dad." Artemis pouted.

"And you didn't learn to shield your thoughts yet."

Her father laughed at the expression on her face. "Let's go," he put a hand on her shoulder, steering her toward the portal. "Or your mom'll kill me, for sure." He murmured.

And like Luke, they disappeared from the arena immediately.


	6. The Strangers

**Chapter Six: The Strangers**

**A/N: I apologize in advance for the OOC's of Thalia and Annabeth.**

* * *

**Thalia's POV**

"They're suppose to be here," Thalia said, her electric blue eyes gleaming with annoyance.

"Who?" Annabeth asked, alarmed. Her whole demeanor screamed, _tell me!_

"You weren't told," Thalia muttered under her breath. She looked up at her friend. "Lady Artemis told me the Olympians had asked for help in the war."

"_What_! When? Where?" Once a daughter of Athena, always a daughter of Athena. Thalia might as well help her friend out before she exploded or something.

"I don't know everything, Annabeth." She reminded her. "But a week ago, at least, the Olympians asked for help, from an outside force."

"Do you know who?"

"No," Thalia shook her head. "That's all I know."

"Thalia!" A familiar voice called, before Annabeth could reply.

Thalia turned to see a fellow Hunter, Phoebe, donned in silver, her bow notched and ready in her hands approach them. "Her army. They're coming. We've slowed them down some, but they're too strong."

Thalia clenched her teeth together, making her bow appear in her hands and a quiver on her back. She flashed Annabeth a serious glance, saying: "Request backup. ASAP."

And she and Phoebe were off. They ran like the wind, literally, dodging trees, leaping over fallen branches and logs. Shades of green reflected off her blue eyes as she and her friend through the woods. The two Hunters were like streaks of silver.

"Not much further," she heard Phoebe say.

And she was right. Nimble figures donned in silver hid among the trees, firing hundreds of arrows at hellhounds, telekhines, dracaenae, and a couple giants- all assortments of different shapes and sizes.

Thalia knew the Hunters were failing by how things looked. She notched an arrow, letting it fly and decapitate the nearest monster, now a golden pile of dust spread on the ground.

She didn't pause in her actions, not even a moment, notching another arrow and letting it go.

The Hunters struck back with renewed force. Hundreds of arrows flew to pierce the air in seconds. Monsters were turning into dust like a thunderstorm. But some other lucky ones remained- the ones that wore full body armor, deadly weapons at their waists. They didn't seem at all phased by the arrows, or Hunters alike. It seemed they only ignored the maidens, pushing the arrows aside. Thalia growled at the sight.

She would show them. She brought out her old spear, raising it high above her head.

"Zeus!" She yelled, a lightning bolt flashing out of the sky, and bouncing off her spear. It struck an armored dracaenae, pushing it back a few feet. It lay still on the ground, like it was dead.

The bolt killed it? No; it wasn't turning to dust.

The dracaenae hissed, a low, melodic sound, getting up off the ground. It resumed its place among the giants. The other monsters followed suit.

There was a clear, piercing sound in the air: the call of a hunting horn. Thalia recognized it immediately.

She and the other Hunters drew back from the gaining monsters, as two flames of light flew through the sky, right toward them. One a pure green, the other a darker shade of the same color, almost black.

Could this be? No, it couldn't. It just couldn't.

The streaks of light crashed into the ground with a reverberating force of energy that commanded every living being draw back from them. Thalia wasn't scared of much, but she found herself stepping back from the figures, not because of fear, but because of the amount of power they possessed. It was inhumane, even for some of the gods.

The auras didn't completely fade from the figures. It stuck to them like a second skin, some of it evaporating in waves and into the air, like it was too much for their bodies to hold.

The taller figure, male, was lean and muscular in frame. His face was unreadable, for the first time in Thalia's life. He had black-as-night hair, and eyes that seemed to calculate your every move. He was donned not with the casual jeans and t-shirt, but with a black cape that blew silently behind him even though there was no wind. He had pants made out of a dark material not recognizable and what looked like (you guessed it) black combat boots. He held two wicked knives in his hands.

The second figure, shorter than the first, had the same slender frame, but clearly female. Both figures shared the ebony colored hair, but the female's reached to the middle of her back. Her eyes weren't the same kind of calculating, like the male's, but they were still, well, calculating. She was donned with, what Thalia could see, assassin's clothes. Like the male, she wore combat boots. At her waist was a sword Thalia had never seen before: three feet of shining silver metal that matched beautifully with the hilt, a truly one-of-a-kind inky hold. Thalia could tell it was handcrafted only for the female. The workmanship was simply exquisite.

Time seemed to speed up. The male muttered something along the lines of, "Go ahead," and the female was gone. Just like that.

Thalia might have wondered where she went, but luckily she didn't have to. She could see the female, a blur at how fast she was going, attack the army of monsters. Her fighting style, Thalia noticed, was unlike anything she had ever seen. No matter what, the female didn't stop moving; she didn't take one incorrect step as she fought. The female struck every monster in the correct chink, turning it to golden dust right on the spot, even the hellhounds. Thalia didn't even know hellhounds could turn to dust. They would always escape into the shadows before she could finish them off.

In what seemed like mere seconds, the performance was over. The female sheathed her sword and made her way back to the male.

"One minute, twenty-nine seconds," the male told her. "Congratulations, Artemis."

_Artemis_? This 'Artemis' didn't look anything like Lady Artemis. It wasn't possible.

'Artemis' frowned. "Could be better." She decided, completely ignoring the gaping Hunters.

_It was now or never_. Thalia voiced the question everyone must have been thinking. "Who are you?" She asked.

The figures turned to look at Thalia. "Who are we?" The male mused in interest. "Well, that's what we all want to know, isn't it?

"We are part of the First Creator, Lord Chaos's force. We bring peace within the galaxies. And we have been sent as allies, not enemies, for aid in the war." He finished, then hastily added: "You may put your bows down."

Thalia was speechless, to say the least. Why would someone name their daughter Artemis? And, more importantly, why would the Olympians ask for help? They were too proud to admit anything, these days...

"Uh, Artemis?" Thalia asked, grabbing the female's attention. "Why's your name the same as-"

"The Olympian Artemis?" Artemis interrupted. Thalia nodded.

Artemis looked up at the male. In return, he only shook his head. Artemis caught Thalia's eyes. "You'll know eventually." She said with a small smile.

"We're to meet with the others," the male said. "At your camp, Camp Half-Blood."

"It's not _our_ camp," a Hunter protested. "We don't associate with those _males_." There was a chorus of "yeah!" and heads nodding.

The male, in turn, seemed not at all mad by their behavior. "My apologies," he said humbly. "_Their_ camp, Camp Half-Blood."

"Indeed," a soft glow of silver light revealed the goddess of the Hunt, Artemis. She was in her twelve-year-old form, a silver bow in her hands. She looked at Thalia. "We'll escort them to Camp."

"As you wish, my Lady," Thalia replied. She turned to the rest of the Hunters. "Let's go."

The Hunters, in Thalia's opinion, were inhumanly fast, since they had received Lady Artemis's blessing, of course. But 'Artemis' and the male kept up just fine. Fine meaning their breaths didn't even come out labored. If anything, they weren't putting any real effort into it. It reminded Thalia of that Leo Valdez many, many years ago. He was the exact opposite of them.

But seriously, how did they keep up? It just wasn't possible. Yet, so many things weren't today.

Beyond the trees appeared a small hill, and Thalia's tree. Well, HER tree. And beyond that stood Camp Half-Blood. They passed through the boundary, Thalia could feel it, before stopping in their pace.

The campers began to surround them. In the back of the crowd stood two other figures, one male and the other female, each as mysterious as the male and 'Artemis.' They too had on distinguished black garb and combat boots.

Some of the males were staring at the Hunters with expressions that made Thalia want to kick them where the sun didn't shine. _Idiots_...

The male and Artemis stood talking to the other figures. It was silent, really, from them.

Annabeth met with Thalia. "They came with you?"

"Yeah," Thalia answered. "Didn't catch the male's name. Female's is Artemis."

"The goddess?" Annabeth was puzzled.

"No," Thalia took a deep breath. "As crazy as it sounds, someone decided to name their child Artemis."

Annabeth nodded her head at the other two figures. "They wouldn't say their names. Only what their job is."

"They're part of Lord Chaos's force," Thalia said.

Annabeth looked at the four figures for a moment. "They're all so serious," she commented.

"They're prodigies in battle."

"Like... Luke prodigy?"

"Better."

Before Annabeth could respond, the twelve Olympians appeared in all their glory. All the talking between the campers and Hunters was silenced as they stared at the gods before them. They were in mortal form this time.

Zeus was the first to talk. "We thank you again for aid in the war against Gaea."

"Please," the male spoke with a hint of jarring poison weaved through his words. "Spare the thanks for our master. We're widely aware of your selfish actions. We don't need you to act with fake kindness while we're around."

"But we're not acting with fake kindness-" Lord Poseidon was cut off again by the same male.

"Oh save it, Poseidon." He said, obvious hate in his eyes. "We know exactly what _you_ did." Why wasn't he getting punished for back-talking to and interrupting the gods?

Poseidon stayed quiet after that. How could a person will the God of the Seas quiet like that?

"At least tell us your names." Zeus said, changing the subject. Thank the gods.

"We cannot," the male replied. Thalia was beginning to think he was leader or something. "Lord Chaos has ordered us not."

"So we can remember the war," Lord Hades suggested. "Properly."

"Lord Chaos has ordered," the male repeated his words. "I'm not one to defy his orders."

"Indeed," a man stepped out of a swirling portal. He wore a cape similar to the figures' leader's. A powerful dark aura rolled off of him in waves.

Thalia saw the four figures instantly kneel, their weapons forgotten on the ground in front of them. Their voices joined into one as they spoke: "My Lord Chaos."

Chaos nodded absently in their direction. "I am known as the First Creator, the Father of the Universe, the All-Knowing, The Eternal, the-" he sighed. "Well, you get the gist of it. I am Chaos."

Thalia's father seemed actually scared. "_The_ Chaos?" He sputtered out.

Chaos nodded. "Correct. _The_ Chaos."

Thalia couldn't help but think they had done something terribly wrong to offend Chaos and his mysterious warriors. If this was _the_ Chaos, then he could make someone violently explode with a single snap of his fingers. He had created entire _galaxies_, this Chaos. The least Thalia could do was show some respect to him.

Even though it felt wrong, she sunk down to one knee. She could almost feel Lord Chaos's wise eyes staring at her form. This position felt foreign to her, but she remained tall and still. She didn't want Lord Chaos to get the wrong impression of Camp Half-Blood, and especially the Hunters.

In the tense silence, she could hear weapons being thrust down. She didn't have to turn around to see what was going on; she already knew. The campers and Hunters had followed Thalia's example. The silence grew after that.

The all-powerful Chaos looked at the gods, frowning. "You almost started a war within your only-responding ally. May I remind you: without us, you'd be nothing. Choose wisely what words come out of your mouth, as I cannot control my soldiers as firmly as you your own children."

Not even the gods dared utter any words. Chaos's form flickered for a moment, like a bad frequency. "I cannot stay any longer. My presence is affecting your Earth." And just like that, without any flashy tricks or anything along those lines, Chaos simply disappeared.


	7. Let the Battle Begin

**Chapter Seven: Let the Battle Begin**

* * *

**Aion's POV**

He had died a little inside, if that were actually possible.

That was the only thought he could think, being among his supposed 'friends' from his past life.

"Aion?" His wife asked, concerned.

Fine; he was fine. He would appear calm, collected, controlled - and that was only the C's. He wouldn't lose his cool; not now. He smiled a little in return. "I'm fine," he said. "Besides, we're only here to complete the mission. Not-"

_Her_ voice sounded clear in the air: "Lord Chaos's soldiers, are you going to join us for lunch?"

Just the sound of her voice... This certain female... Allowed his demeanor to turn colder. He gritted his teeth, making sure it was one hundred percent negligible, by all means. "Yes, daughter of Athena."

She frowned. "How did you know? Are you the leader or something?"

The corners of his mouth tilted upward - not in a nice way, though. It was his way of saying: _Get out of my face. I'm terribly superior to you._ "Something like that."

Aion could see by her body language, she wasn't quite sure with his simple answer. Those familiar gears turned in her head.

_Ah, stop_, he chided himself. What did he see in her? Nothing, absolutely _nothing_. The goddess Aphrodite had clearly played a role in his past life; he had been smitten. It was all her blame in their _relationship_.

His family and Luke made their way to the pavilion, streaming with scattered campers and nearby, the group of Hunters.

Yet he kept walking. No, he wasn't interested in the food; he had eaten a big breakfast back at Headquarters. He also didn't feel like getting that massive wave of attention all over again. Everyone stared at them like they would kill someone if they weren't careful. Only mortals could think that. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

He walked straight to where the cabins stood. Nothing had changed in this camp, not even a bit. The same cabins were in their old, designated places.

Aion walked past Cabin Three. No, he didn't belong there, either. Not after what had happened... He owed Lord Chaos his life for joining the force.

He settled upon an empty patch of grass, hugged comfortably by the monster-replete forest.

_This is good. Not too shabby. I like it._

"Here." Aion said.

The three people behind him understood what he meant. Artemis joined Zoë on her left, Aion on Zoë's other side, and Luke next to Aion. They stood in a straight line, and closed their eyes, concentrating.

Their voices joined into one as they spoke a spell in an ancient tongue long forgotten, even to the gods. It wasn't particularly Ancient Greek, what flowed out of their mouths, but it worked great magic.

The atmosphere around them grew dark, like midnight. It was hazy, as if Ancient Greek fire was burning. In front of them, the ebony darkness gathered into a swirling vortex.

The four spoke the final words, and the vortex evaporated. An obsidian cabin emerged right before their eyes. It wasn't like the others, not at all. To begin with, it was bigger than the rest. It radiated a misty, black aura. Several windows ran along the sides, each tinted down to the darkest color tone available. Stars, black holes, and comets shot through the sides of the cabin, as if the whole building was alive. The roof was of a single complex design, which reminded Aion of those ancient Chinese pagodas.

This was Chaos's cabin.

The doors slid open, and Aion walked in. The interior was... Well, dark. The walls: dark. The casual living room furniture: dark. Even the roaring fire that warmed the whole room: a pure ebony.

Aion quite liked it.

He walked in to find twenty-four soldiers in the room, some spread out on the couches, some standing. Chaos's cabin was probably designed like that. So if the door was left open for some odd reason unheard of, the whole building would seem empty from the outside. Nice security.

"Soldiers, line up." Behind him, Luke ordered.

The soldiers hurried from their previous position, and into their designated places, making a perfect rectangle: four groups of six. Aion might have praised his friend Luke, but that squad had been his, before he took the title of Leader. He smiled.

Aion knew every soldier's strengths and weaknesses. They seemed limited in number, but they were terribly skilled. A harsh laugh would escape Gaea's lips before they would defeat her and her aiding allies. Then he could go back to Headquarters and never lay his eyes onto Camp Half-Blood again.

"Thinking about murder, Aion?" Luke asked, jolting him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah,_ your _murder, in fact."

Luke imitated a shocked expression. "I'm hurt, Aion. What a great friend you are."

Aion laughed. "I'm an awesome friend, thanks for asking."

"Aion!" Zoë called. "You won't believe this."

Aion exited the cabin, looking for his wife. Zoë had been right; he didn't believe it. Monsters of all kinds hid in the trees, shimmering transparent as if they couldn't decide whether to stay invisible or solid. There was a trail of alabaster monster dust laying in piles on the ground, leading into the forest. Aion immediately knew Zoë had fought her way through.

"Oh my Chaos." Luke breathed.

Oh my Chaos indeed. When he had first joined Chaos, Aion would have looked at this situation, and fled. But now, this was standard practice, like his training arena. Aion raised his knives. "Contest; like old times?" He asked, eyeing his first target, a drakon slithering among the trees.

"You're on."

Aion raced toward his first target, decapicitating it. He didn't pause, driving his knives into the back of an unsuspecting dracaena. Then another.

He made sure he was quiet in his movements, so others wouldn't hear him. He sliced through hellhound after hellhound, making his way through the forest. A group of empousa here, legion of harpies there. He left no survivors, monster dust in his wake. He felt... At peace, sending the monsters back to Tartarus, their rightful place. It reminded him of the good times; the many years he spent being sent out on missions to get rid of a dangerous enemy or two. He felt free.

Aion finally sliced through the last hellhound, putting his knives back into the scabbards at his belt. He glanced back at where he came from, a faint bright light through the ebony trees. The more he thought about it, the more right it seemed. Those monsters couldn't have fought like that. A leader _had_ to have commanded them. Plus, monsters weren't supposed to be a transparent white in color, another sign.

"Come out; stop hiding!" He yelled.

Silence was the only answer. The dark mysteriousness of the forest grew into an ebony. Trees rustled, a harsh wind picking up. There was a female voice, a single thought. Radiating pure power, it released four words into the gentle atmosphere:

_Let the battle begin._


	8. The Encounter

**Chapter Eight: The Encounter**

* * *

_Let the battle begin._

Aion grounded his teeth. He wasn't scared; he was _mad_. He knew who the voice's owner was, no doubt. He had fought her once before in an earlier mission, and succeeded. Now would be no different.

It was Gaea, the Earth goddess.

"Show yourself, goddess," he said.

Gaea's echoing voice chortled._ If only I could_..., she sighed. _Alas, if only someone as strong as you joined us, would I fully awake._

Aion wished he could punch Gaea in the face for that comment of hers. Instead, he said tightly: "Keep wishing."

_I will_, she promised, her voice coming from everywhere, but nowhere. _Don't want Chaos's First Commander worrying, now do we?_

Aion found himself instinctively pulling out his knives, only to slice empty air. Gaea's piercing laugh seemed to get louder each second.

That was it; Aion's tolerance had peaked. He bared his teeth a little, jabbing one of his knives into the grass beneath his feet with all his force. A deadly black mist dribbled beneath the surface.

Immediately, Aion felt the magic force recede from Camp Half-Blood. The ground no longer looked as forced and rough. Around him, the atmosphere changed back to its regular sunny, warm weather. The wind from earlier had dissipated. Camp Half-Blood was temporarily back to its same-old condition. Aion was almost relieved for that; _almost_.

He withdrew his blade from the ground, returning it to its sheath. Then he ran; ran faster than the wind. He dodged trees easily, leaping over rocks and the sort. According to his natural instincts, the Olympians's cabins should be... Here. _What_? His instincts had never failed him before. Aion scanned his surroundings.

Before him, the green grass faded into a golden sand, baking in the sun. In the distance, waves pounded against the shore. A salty sea breeze blew Aion's ebony hair back, the sun hot against his face. He almost relaxed with the pleasant change of scenery, if not for the light silhouette standing by the water.

Aion approached it, careful of making any noise as he took each step, light and silent. If one concentrated hard enough, they would hear him then. For now, he stayed unnoticed.

Aion casually drew closer. The silhouette's features were distinguished from behind: short midnight hair, a Hawaiian-print T-shirt, and beach shorts. This silhouette was Poseidon.

Aion briefly considered backing down, but he was no coward. He would speak with the god of the Sea; having an _actual conversation_. Maybe his dad had changed his mind after so long. Maybe, maybe not. The time was now.

He was currently standing at Poseidon's left, staring at the same view Poseidon was: the endless ocean glittering in the overhead sun. How this could be interesting, Aion thought, only the god of the Sea would know.

"Nice weather, sir?" Aion asked, casually, of course. He didn't mean to add in the '_sir_.' Alas, old habits died hard.

Poseidon jumped slightly; surprised at the soldier's appearance. His weary sea green eyes settled upon Aion. "Ah," he cleared his throat. "Yes, the weather certainly is nice this time of year."

Aion absently nodded. The dour, miserable emotions flooded back into his self, but he forced them back down with a single breath, where they rightfully belonged. Aion was given a second chance at life, and he had gratefully accepted. There was no more sadness in him; that died a long time ago.

Aion was about to excuse himself back to the cabins, when Poseidon's question struck him off guard: "If you don't mind my asking, what's the weather like where you live?"

_Of course I mind your asking..._ Aion shifted from one foot to the other. He actually had to pause and think about this. He wanted to say: _Why do you care, you son of a bitch? You never cared before; why start now?_

Instead, he answered: "Well, sir, I don't know. I'm sent on missions by my Lord Chaos, paid in exchange with ranks. I'm always on the move."

There was a hopeful glint in Poseidon's eyes. "You wouldn't have seen a male, with black hair..." His voice faded, an expression of concentration of his face, then replaced with sadness. For a split second, Aion thought his identity was discovered. "I don't know... His name was Percy Jackson."

It really struck Aion hard to hear his past life's name. Those four syllables broke the steel wall inside himself. He kept an impassive face, just in case anyone was watching. Yet, why would anyone _be_ watching?

"No, sir," he replied, spitting the words; his dark emotions were getting in his way. Sometimes, he wished he could be an impassive assassin. This, adequately, was one of those times.

"One more thing?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Call me Poseidon."

"Yes, sir," he growled, balling his fists slightly. Indeed, old habits _did_ die rather hard.

A rough scene formed into Aion's mind: _Poseidon was laying on top of his throne, now a pile of debris. His form was bleeding golden ichor from many places, staining the ground around him a gold. In front of Poseidon stood Aion. A disgruntling smile was plastered on his face, like he was dissatisfied Poseidon wasn't dead yet._

_Aion stepped forward, raising his knives. "Don't worry, _sir_," he promised, the smile getting wider, his eyes desperate for murder. "This'll only hurt a lot."_

_Aion plunged his knives through Poseidon's bleeding form._

Aion internally smiled at this. How he would have gladly let the Olympians die like this. But for now, he would have to dream. Maybe one day Lord Chaos would allow... _Maybe one day. _

* * *

Aion made his way to the group of soldiers back at the mess hall. The assortment of campers surrounding the bronze brazier for the gods dwindled. He was just in time.

Aion absently grabbed a cheeseburger from a tray carried by a particularly tiny nymph, and an empty glass from another table. He then plumped himself down beside Luke and Zoë at the white-trimmed tables.

"Legion was sent by Gaea," he said, taking a bite out of his burger.

"She told me, 'Let the battle begin,'" Luke said. Zoë nodded as well.

"She wants to-" Aion's words immediately melted apart. The abnormally silent mess hall was never _quiet, _even when he was here. _Tell you later_, he mouthed.

Artemis, meanwhile, didn't notice this. She was staring at the Apollo cabin, huddled at the archery targets. Some of the younger kids got shots of the outer rings, while the more experienced, older campers impaled eights and nines.

"That's it," Artemis decided, in reply grabbing the utmost attention of the three figures in front of her.

She stood up, abandoning her plate. She summoned her silver bow in her hands, and a quiver appeared on her back. She notched an Eon Silver arrow, making her way toward the targets.

"Artemis, I don't think that's..." Luke's voice faded. She wasn't listening.

Aion smirked, lowering his voice. "Lord Chaos hates the Greeks. My daughter was allowed to come and see how horrid their ways really were."

Artemis now stood about thirty feet away from the center target. She pulled the silver arrow back, and let it take flight.

The noise of wood cracking echoed in the air. Artemis's arrow had pierced the absolute center of the target.

Aion quickly stood up. Something was wrong; something was seriously wrong. He was one hundred percent sure of it.

His daughter now stood in place, not even the slightest movement of her chest to show she was breathing. A strong force roamed the air._ A valuable pawn, _it spoke._ A valuable pawn indeed._


End file.
